


Tea and Coffee

by SadinaSaphrite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fantasizing, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hanzo On A Motorcycle, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of People Somehow On Morcycles, M/M, Mission Fic, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, POV Hanzo Shimada, Post-Recall, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadinaSaphrite/pseuds/SadinaSaphrite
Summary: With shaking hands, Hanzo picked up the serape, still warm to the touch, and wound his fingers through the soft wool.Gone. McCree was gone.He looked out over the desert, and he could just make out the clouds of dust being kicked up by the fleeing Deadlock gang. They’d taken him. It was all a damned trap, just like Hanzo had feared.  Hanzo clenched his jaw and held the serape tighter.Deadlock may have taken McCree, but they damn well wouldn’t be keeping him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the [2018 McHanzo Reverse Big Bang!](http://mcbigbang.tumblr.com) This is the longest piece I've ever finished and it was a ton of fun to write. My partner was the lovely [Asticou](http://asticou.tumblr.com) who was absolutely fantastic to work with. Go check out the rest of her art! A big thank you to [PixelHanzo](http://pixelhanzo.tumblr.com) for acting as my beta!

  


“So, lemme go over the details one more time, now that we’ve got the satellite imaging of the ambush site.” McCree cleared the playing cards and drinks off the table. “Athena, can you please pull up the layout for me, darlin’?”

“Of course, Agent McCree,” Athena said smoothly through the Orca’s speakers. A hologram blinked into existence over the table, showing a narrow road that fed through the mouth of a canyon, winding through tall cliffs before opening up to a hilly desert landscape.

“Thanks, sweetpea. How we lookin’?”

“Twenty minutes to the landing zone, Agent McCree. I can maintain the Orca’s autopilot for now, but I will need Agent Tracer’s expertise to land.”

“No worries, luv!” Lena said, sitting cross-legged on the couch beside the table. “I’ll be back up in a jiffy!”

“So, where’s the ambush site?” Brigitte leaned over the table, cutting an imposing figure in her full battle armor, but even she was dwarfed by Reinhardt behind her, his massive armored form towering over everyone else gathered around the hologram.

“Right here,” McCree said and waved his hand, enlarging the hologram to focus on the mouth of the canyon. “Deadlock will be coming down the canyon with three armored trucks. We’re gonna catch ‘em before they leave the canyon so they can’t make a run for it. Rein and Brigitte, you’ll be positioned here.”

McCree made a motion and two markers appeared on the hologram, off to the side of the road in the canyon.

“Your job is to stop the caravan. I don’t care much about collateral damage, especially to Deadlock’s trucks, but keep in mind that we got innocent captives on board and we don’t wanna hurt someone who ain’t got it comin’. You and me, Lena, we’ll be back here.”

Two more markers appeared on the map, a decent distance away from Reinhardt and Brigitte’s markers, positioned on either side of the road. “Soon as Rein and Brig stop the trucks, we’ll come in from the back and start dealing out punishment to the Deadlock bastards who do have it comin’. As for you, Hanzo,” he pointed at the archer in question, who was leaning against the wall with arms folded and a scowl on his face. “I’m going to have you up here.”

A final marker appeared along the canyon wall, putting him a good forty feet above the ground.

“You’ll be eyes and ears on the scene,” McCree continued. “Satellite shows there’s enough ledges for you to maneuver here, so I want you up high, giving callouts and taking care of potential threats before they become a problem.”

Hanzo’s scowl deepened.

“You got that, sugar?” McCree smiled sweetly, pointedly ignoring Hanzo’s glower.

“Yes,” Hanzo barked.

“Alright,” McCree sat back and dismissed the hologram with a wave of his hand. “Once we touch down, we secure the Orca, move into position, and wait for the Deadlock caravan. Any questions? Good. Athena, what’s our ETA at?”

“Sixteen minutes to the landing zone, Agent McCree.”

“I just still can’t believe it,” Lena said, getting to her feet. “I mean, I knew Deadlock was bad, but omnic trafficking? That’s so horrible…”

“We’ve seen it in Europe,” Brigitte said, giving Reinhardt’s armor a final checkover.

“Indeed,” the giant of a man said somberly. “After the Crisis, some people found quite a profit in scavenging the bones of fallen machines, but as the years passed, there were fewer and fewer remains to scavenge.”

“So some lowlifes decided to jump right to the source and kidnap living omnics, selling them off for labor or killing them for scrap and parts,” Brigitte continued.

“‘Lowlife’ is a kinder word than I’d use,” Lena huffed. “Alright, see you after we touch down!” She blinked up to the cockpit.

“Final fuel checks,” Brigitte said. “Hold still, Reinhardt!”

“I am holding still!”

With the others distracted by their own business, Hanzo finally slipped forward to sit at the table beside McCree. McCree had set out a box of .44 Magnum ammunition and was currently busying himself by filling his speedloaders for Peacekeeper.

“Real nasty look you’ve been givin’ me,” McCree said without looking up, keeping his voice low. “I do something to piss you off?”

“I do not like this,” Hanzo hissed. “High walls, low visibility, and plenty of side trails coming off the canyon. Not to mention that if anyone gets through us and out of the canyon, there’s empty desert to escape in every direction. And did you see the reports about the electrical feedback zone left over from the Omnic Crisis? We’ll have radio interference on our communicators, and it would hide enemy communications from us. This is a perfect spot for an ambush.”

“I know, sweetheart,” McCree spoke in a voice just a little too sweet with an edge to it, like spun sugar hiding a knife. “That’s why we’re the ones doing the ambushing.”

“I do not trust your source of information.”

“So you’ve told me,” Finishing with the speedloaders, McCree dumped the rest of the box of ammunition into a pocket. “But Devi-05 was genuinely a friend to me back in when I was in the gang, and if Deadlock’s started kidnapping and selling omnics for profit, then I don’t blame her for getting a mite twitchy.”

“That was _twenty years ago_ ,” Hanzo said. “You’ve changed a great deal since then, and having a mysterious friend from a dangerous gang who hasn’t spoken to you since you left them is incredibly suspicious. This is a trap.”

“This _might_ be a trap,” McCree corrected. His voice remained calm, but he threw the empty box of ammunition down on table hard enough that Brigitte and Reinhardt both glanced over. McCree waved off their attentions with a smile before finally turning to Hanzo.

“So you admit it,” Hanzo said. “This very well could be a trap.”

“Of course it could be a trap!” Exasperation leaked into McCree’s voice. “You don’t spend as much time as I have in black ops without assuming everything might be a trap.”

“Then why are we here?” Hanzo asked with frustration. Despite their close friendship, he and McCree had been butting heads over this mission ever since Winston had approved it, and Hanzo was still at a loss as to what McCree thought he was doing.

“Because just like it might be a trap, it might _not_ be a trap,” he said smoothly, drawing Peacekeeper and giving her a final checkover. “And there might indeed be three trucks full of scared, kidnapped omnics headed our way. So, what would you have me do, Hanzo? Turn away because there’s a risk? Or take a chance that there might be lives here needin’ saving?”

Hanzo let out a huff and looked away. Damn it all, McCree had a point. Ten months of working beside McCree had taught him the gunslinger was frighteningly competent as both an agent and a tactician, and could be well trusted to lead a mission. However, eight months of befriending him taught Hanzo that McCree was a sucker for someone in distress, and that was something that could be easily abused.

Five months of falling in love with Jesse taught Hanzo that he’d follow him to hell and back anyway.

“Just because you have a point doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Not asking you to like it, darlin’, just asking you to do your job. Besides,” McCree slid Peacekeeper back into her holster and got to his feet before finally flashing Hanzo that goddamn cheeky lopsided grin. “What do I have to worry about when I have you watching my back?”

He shot Hanzo a wink and headed over to the jump seats to strap himself in for the landing. Hanzo was grateful he was sitting down, as he wasn’t sure his knees would have been able to support him during the combination of that grin and wink. He let out a slow breath, told himself firmly to get his act together, and went to strap himself in to his own jump seat.

The Orca landed a few minutes later, smoothly as ever under Lena’s skilled hands.

“Welcome to New Mexico, ladies and gents!” Lena’s bright voice chirped over the intercom as the Orca bay door hissed open. “Local time: 12:38, temperature: thirty-eight degrees. Or, for those of us who ‘aven’t embraced Celsius like the rest of the bloody world, it’s 101 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s you, Jesse. I’m talking about you.”

“Yeah, Tracer. I got it,” he rolled his eyes at Hanzo’s inquisitive look. “You have _one_ misunderstanding about what ‘twenty-four degrees’ means and no one ever lets you forget it. Alright team, move out.”

It took about an hour for them to secure the Orca and get into position, and by the time Hanzo had climbed atop the set of rocky crags he’d be perched on for the ambush, he had already decided he was done with the New Mexico heat. The high canyon walls kept the road at least partially shaded, even in the middle of the day, but Hanzo still found himself mopping sweat off his face and neck with his sleeve. He felt sticky and disgusting and they hadn’t even seen any action yet. It was almost a relief when the rumble of trucks echoed through the canyon walls.

“Incoming,” Hanzo said into his communicator as the telltale rumbling grew louder. 

“This is it, people,” McCree said. “Stick to the plan and we should have smooth sailing.”

Hanzo scowled from atop his perch, but said nothing. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

As McCree’s source had promised, three armored trucks rolled into sight around the curve in the road. Hanzo crouched low atop the rock formation, Storm Bow in hand, and waited. For a long moment, there was no sound but the steady drone of the trucks, then Reinhardt burst from cover, his power armor propelling him forward in a charge. His massive hammer came crashing down over the front of the truck, smashing right through the hood and through the engine block. The truck died immediately, dropping hard to the ground as the antigrav wheels deactivated.

The two Deadlock thugs in the truck cabin sprang into action, and Hanzo wondered if they acted a little too quickly, as if they had been expecting the attack, or if it was just his imagination. Brigitte charged in on Reinhardt’s heels and swung her mace at the passenger side of the truck, smashing in the door and preventing the thug inside from being able to open it. The driver flung his own door open, a submachine gun in hand, but never had the chance to use it as Hanzo took aim and put an arrow through his skull.

Reinhardt pulled his hammer out of the front of the truck and threw his shield up, expecting the second truck to try to pass the first in an effort to escape, but it never came. Hanzo narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the scene. The second and third trucks had slowed to a stop, leaving plenty of space between vehicles.

“Something’s wrong,” he said into the coms, gut clenching around that nagging feeling he’d had since the very beginning of this mission. “They stopped too quickly to have been taken by surprise.”

“For the last time, Hanzo–” McCree stopped short as the backs of all three trucks opened, and instead of captured omnics, they were met with the roar of motorcycle engines.

“Alright,” McCree said, sounding far calmer than Hanzo felt. “I ain’t afraid to admit when I’ve been wrong.”

Deadlock thugs tore out of the back of the trucks, armed and riding motorcycles - actual gas-powered motorcycles with tires that touched the ground instead of modern hoverbikes. McCree and Tracer burst from hiding and began laying down cover fire.

“New objective,” McCree roared into the coms. “Stay alive and retreat to the ship! Take out as many Deadlock bastards as you can along the way!”

After that, the fight fell into chaos.

“Tracer, there are four circling to your right! McCree, take cover behind the truck, there are two on your tail! Brigitte, watch your left flank!” Hanzo saw a spray of bullets ricochet off Brigitte’s armored back before the thug riding it fell to an arrow in the chest, sending the bike spinning out of control. Lena only just managed to blink out of the way of a shotgun blast and McCree retaliated with a flash grenade to the Deadlock thug’s face, sending him crashing into the side of a truck.

They were outnumbered three to one, and the bikers stayed in constant motion, weaving between the Overwatch members and the trucks, circling behind them to take cheap shots at their exposed backs. Hanzo did his best to keep up with the callouts, leaping from platform to platform along the canyon wall, but the action was too spread out and he had too many targets to keep track of. If this continued, it was only a matter of time before a thug got in a lucky shot and they all died in this god-forsaken sweltering canyon.

“Reinhardt,” Hanzo shouted. “Shield up, and put your back to the canyon wall! Brigitte, stay behind the shield and use your mace to take out as many of those motorcycles as you can. One good hit to a wheel should be enough to take one out. McCree and Tracer, advance forward to the front of the caravan to take shelter behind the shield. Then we retreat together!”

He got a jumbled shout of assent in return before a spray of bullets peppered the rock he was perched on. He cursed and leapt to another outcropping, the sheer height of his vantage point giving him some cover, and took aim at the biker who had targeted him. He missed the fast moving target, and wasted another two arrows before nailing the Deadlock thug in the shoulder.

It was quickly apparent that Hanzo’s plan was easier said than done. Rein had his shield up with Brigitte at his back, but was having difficulty retreating to the canyon wall with Deadlock driving around them to assault their backs. It didn’t talk long for Deadlock to figure out that they were trying to retreat and they began focusing Reinhardt and Brigitte, more bikes circling them, more thugs taking shots at them, trying to find the holes in their armor. A crack splintered through the hardlight of Reinhardt’s shield.

“Barrier is giving out!” Reinhardt’s booming voice echoed, and Hanzo winced as he was able to hear it even without the communicator. Lovely. Now all of Deadlock knew, too. Two more bikes veered down to focus the tank and the foundation of their small team’s defense.

“Two more headed to the front,” Hanzo called, then grabbed a fistful of arrows at once.

There were a total of six bikes harassing the front line. If he could clear them out, then it would give Reinhardt and Brigitte time to get properly positioned so they could retreat. He slid the arrows between his fingers and nocked the first, taking aim. The bikers were fast, even in such a contained area while weaving between the trucks and each other, and made for challenging targets.

Hanzo took a deep breath, then focused, reaching deep within himself to brush against the node of power where the two ancient spirits resided within him. The Dragons stirred, shifting beneath his skin, and granted him the power he sought. It was only a sliver of what they were capable of, but it was all he needed. The tattoo along his arm began to glow and his senses sharpened. His head felt clearer, his eyes sharper, and as he looked over the battle below him, the bikers didn’t seem nearly as fast as they did a moment ago. His vision narrowed, becoming hyper-focused on his targets. He took aim and the glow along his arm transferred up along Storm Bow and the arrow he had nocked. He drew back and released. 

Before the first arrow had found its mark, he had already nocked a second arrow and took aim at his next target, then the next, then the next. Moving with impossible speed, he fired six arrows in the matter of seconds and six targets fell, motorcycles spinning out of control.

The power faded from him and the world went back to normal.

“Good shooting, archer!” Reinhardt spared enough time to give Hanzo a salute before retreating to a more defensible position.

“Where are the others?” Brigitte asked, retreating beside him.

“Right here, luv!”

Hanzo spotted the flash of light as Tracer blinked into view beside Brigitte.

“Let’s get back to the ship and get out of here!”

“Wait, where’s McCree?” Brigitte asked.

“He’s not here?” The surprise was evident in Tracer’s voice, even over the communicator in Hanzo’s ear. “I could have sworn he was closer to the front line than I was.”

Hanzo quickly surveyed the area, but there was no familiar red serape to be seen. In fact, there wasn’t much of Deadlock to be seen, either. There were a few Deadlock thugs on foot, shooting futilely at Reinhardt’s shield from behind the trucks amid scattered bodies and fallen bikes, but there should have been at least a half-dozen more bikers, and now they were just…gone.

Like McCree.

“Requesting backup!”

McCree’s voice crackled over the coms, the sound distorted and scrambled.

“McCree?” Hanzo asked, eyes frantically looking over the scene. His heart leapt in his throat and his mouth went dry as he still couldn’t find him. “What’s your location?”

The familiar crack of Peacekeeper firing echoed through the canyon, sharper and louder than the rat-a-tat of the Deadlock submachine guns.

“Rat bastards chased me half a fucking mile down the road! I’m almost all the way to the goddamn mouth of the canyon. They ain’t even trying to kill me proper, unless they all have really shitty aim. Not sure what in the fuck they’re trying to– Dammit! Get offa me! Goddamnsonofamotherfuc–”

McCree’s voice cut off mid-word, the com going silent. A second later, the remaining Deadlock thugs began to retreat, those on foot grabbing fallen motorcycles and tearing down the road, past their meager group and toward the open desert.

“McCree? McCree, what’s your status?” Hanzo dropped down from the top of the rock formation and ran toward the mouth of the canyon. His heart pounded in his ears and his eyes darted in all directions. He ignored the retreating Deadlock bikers, looking desperately for a flash of red serape or an old brown Stetson. “McCree? Jesse, answer me!”

The remaining members of Deadlock had already vanished from sight by the time Hanzo had made it around the curve of the road where the canyon walls fell away to open desert, leaving behind only the echoing roar of motorcycles fading into the distance. Further down the road lay three abandoned bikes and a handful of bodies, and Hanzo kicked his run into a sprint, racing toward them.

“Jesse! Jesse, where are…” He trailed off as he reached the scene. The bodies were all Deadlock, blood splattered across the pavement. Sprawled in the middle of it all, brighter than the blood staining the ground, was McCree’s crimson serape. With shaking hands, Hanzo picked up the worn fabric, still warm to the touch, and wound his fingers through the soft wool.

Gone. McCree was gone.

He looked out over the desert, and he could just make out the clouds of dust being kicked up by the fleeing Deadlocks. They’d taken him. It was all a damned trap, just like Hanzo had feared. They’d lured him in with a fake plea for help, separated him from the group, and taken him. Hanzo clenched his jaw and held the serape tighter.

Deadlock may have taken McCree, but they damn well wouldn’t be keeping him.

Hanzo threw the serape around his shoulders and made his way to one of the fallen motorcycles. His foot hit something hard that skidded across the pavement and gave Hanzo pause.

Peacekeeper.

Hanzo picked the revolver up and tucked it into the back of his obi, then righted one of the motorcycles.

“Hanzo, report!” Tracer’s voice chirped in his ear. “What’s going on, luv?”

“Deadlock has taken McCree,” he said as he mounted the bike, his voice sounding much steadier than he felt. He tucked the front of the serape up over his lower face. “I am going after them.”

“Wait! Hanzo, we need to regroup! We need to get back to the Orca and plan–”

The roar of the motorcycle’s engine drowned out the rest of Tracer’s words and he tore across the desert after McCree.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


Riding a gas motorcycle was…an experience.

Hanzo had driven hoverbikes in Japan, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The sensation of driving something with wheels on the ground instead of antigrav tech was jarring. He could feel every rock, divot, and unevenness on the dirt road as the bike bumped and jolted with each one. And the smell! He hadn’t even considered the smell of a motorcycle until he was surrounded with it, steel, oil, gasoline, and exhaust permeating through the serape wrapped around his lower face. The sharp scents were unfamiliar to him, a far cry from the more modern, solar-powered machines he was used to.

Hanzo worked the clutch and shifted gears, twisting the throttle and accelerating across the desert. The serape protected his lower face, but did little to defend his eyes from the onslaught of wind and dust. The edges of the serape whipped in the wind, buffeting his arms and back with sharp little stings. He squinted, powering through it and ignoring it the best he could, focusing on the dust cloud Deadlock was leaving in the distance.

Beneath him, the bike growled like a living thing, roaring in his ears, its tone and tremor changing with every touch of the throttle, every shift in gear. It was nothing like the monotone, quiet hum of a hoverbike, and he now knew why McCree had once scoffed at him and said Hanzo needed to ride a “real” bike.

_McCree._

Hanzo’s heart ached. McCree, his training partner, his drinking companion, his friend, his love…he was gone. All those nights they’d spent together talking on the balcony under the stars, competing on the practice range, watching movies in the rec room, trying to out-cheat each other at cards, chatting at breakfast while sipping tea and coffee, sharing their deepest fears and secrets over a bottle of alcohol…all that time, and Hanzo had never gathered the courage to confess his feelings. All that time, and now it might be too late.

Damn it all! What was Deadlock after? If they wanted McCree dead, then why steal him away? It would have been far easier to put a bullet in him during the confusion of the fight. Their little strike team was skilled, but they had been sorely outnumbered and out-positioned. If Deadlock had wanted them all dead, then they never would have made it out of the canyon.

So why, then? To collect on McCree’s bounty? Possible, but McCree’s bounty was the same price dead or alive. It would have been far easier to slaughter them all in the canyon and collect McCree’s remains. The thought made Hanzo’s gut clench as the images rose to his mind, unbidden. He’d killed enough people in his lifetime that his imagination was well equipped to provide him with graphic possibilities.

In his mind’s eye, he could see McCree sprawled in a pool of his own blood on the dusty canyon road, body littered with bullet wounds. Slumped against one of the trucks, eyes empty and glassy, his throat slit wide open as blood stained his serape darker and darker. Collapsing to the ground after a shotgun blast to the side of the head, shredding through his hat and skull alike, his eyes still wide with shock as the back of his head was simply obliterated, brain splattering across–

_No._

Hanzo’s heart stuttered in his chest and he breathed hard through the wind rushing against the serape. No, McCree was alive. That kind of thinking would get him nowhere. McCree was alive, and Hanzo still had a chance to save him. Deadlock wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of abducting McCree if they just wanted his bounty.

If not the bounty, then what did they want? Revenge? A valid possibility. After betraying Deadlock and joining Blackwatch, McCree caused a lot of trouble for the gang, enough that they certainly could still hold a grudge. If their motive was revenge, it still didn’t bode well for McCree. Would they want to rough him up? Torture him?

He quickly clamped down on those thoughts before his masochistic imagination could start in on them.

It still seemed like a lot of work just to catch one man for something as petty as revenge. There was something else at play here.

Or not. Some people were just petty.

The sun was starting to hang low on the horizon and the cloud of dust Hanzo was following had faded at the base of one of the big mesas that decorated the landscape. Hanzo could make out several structures, buildings of some kind, tucked into the shadow of the stone cliffs.

He angled the bike away. If he charged in on a loud motorcycle headfirst, he’d alert the entire gang of his presence. He needed to park further away and approach stealthily on foot. After another few minutes, he approached a rocky formation a good distance away from the Deadlock hideout.

Hanzo squeezed the hand brake, but instead of slowing, the entire motorcycle jolted. He only had enough time for his heart to jump into his throat before the bike lurched to the right and smashed to the ground. The bike continued on for another few dozen feet, leaving Hanzo behind as he rolled to a stop on the dirt road. He lay still for a few moments, shaking off the shock of the crash, before he slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off. A quick evaluation of himself suggested that he wasn’t hurt. He’d picked up a scrape along his right cheek, but the serape had done a good job of protecting him from getting too scratched up in the fall, and didn’t seem to be otherwise injured. He counted himself as lucky and moved on without any further thought to the matter.

He kept close to ground, using the cliff face as cover as he approached. As he came closer, he found that Deadlock had taken refuge in a collection of six buildings, all in various states of poor repair and disuse. The motorcycles were parked together alongside the largest building without a soul in sight.

Moving from shadow to shadow, Hanzo crept stealthily toward the closest building. He took a moment to gauge the stability of the obviously old structure, then took a running start and climbed the wall, landing lightly on the roof.

Movement caught his eye. The door to the largest building opened and an omnic dressed in Deadlock leathers stepped out, flanked by two thugs. They walked in silence and made a beeline for the building to Hanzo’s left. He dropped flat against the roof, making himself less obvious, and didn’t move until he heard them enter the new building. Slowly, he rose back to his feet. The building the strangers had entered was small, hardly more than a shack, but it was close enough to Hanzo’s current perch that he was able to easily climb to it, moving rooftop to rooftop.

“Is he awake?”

The voice had the synthetic undertones of an omnic, and Hanzo crept toward the sound, picking his way carefully over the crumbling roof.

“Naw, not yet,” said a gruff male voice, human this time. “But he’s starting t’come around.”

“Then expedite the process,” the omnic said coldly.

Hanzo heard a soft thump, followed by a groan.

“Git up, y’bastard!”

Another thump and another groan, this time ending in a series of growled curses in a very familiar voice.

McCree! He was alive! Oh, thanks be to all the gods, spirits, and ancient dragons, McCree was alive. Hanzo crept closer and found a sizeable hole where the damage to the roof had grown extensive, giving him a window into the room below. McCree was on his side, hat missing and wrists bound behind his back. Standing over him were two heavy bearded thugs in Deadlock biker leathers and a willowy omnic, wearing a leather jacket of a significantly higher quality than the thugs beside her, the deadlock skull emblem emblazoned on the back.

Another thump, which proved to be the thug kicking his beloved, and McCree’s voice grew clearer.

“GoddammitSHITmother-of-fuck,” McCree said eloquently. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem, Jesse, is you,” the omnic folded her arms.

“Devi,” McCree sat up slowly, legs sprawled in front of him, and he spat out the omnic’s name like a curse. “You rusty pile of shit. You said you needed help! That Deadlock was trafficking omnics and you were afraid for your life!”

“Oh, Jesse,” the omnic shook her head. “All those years of experience, and you’re still as naïve as you were at sixteen. I do need your help, but Deadlock’s not trafficking omnics–”

“I gathered,” McCree interrupted icily.

Devi continued, ignoring the interruption. “In fact, the Deadlock Rebels are under new management.” She rotated her wrists smoothly to gesture at herself. “Me.”

“You?” A shrewd look passed over McCree’s face. “In charge of Deadlock? …What happened to Hank?”

“A .45 to the back of the head,” Devi said, and McCree’s expression went oddly blank, a look that Hanzo recognized as McCree’s poker face he only wore when he was trying to hide something. “Hank finally bit off more than he could chew and pissed off the wrong people for the last time. With the old man out of the picture and the rest of Deadlock looking for a new leader, it was the perfect opportunity for me to show what I am _truly_ capable of. I’m far more than the maintenance bot you knew two decades ago.”

“Yeah, yeah,” McCree growled. “Congratu-fucking-lations on the promotion. What in the hell does that have to do with me?”

“Well,” Devi leaned forward, her tall form looming over him. “As Hank’s only brat, you’re the only one left alive who knows where his private cache is. So why don’t you be a good boy and tell us where your old Pa left his good shit?”

Hanzo’s eyes widened. McCree’s father was the head of Deadlock? McCree never talked about his parents; he was always quick to say that Overwatch had been his real family. Suddenly it made sense why McCree didn’t like to talk about his father. Or late father, as the case may be. What a terrible way for McCree to find out his father had died.

“That’s what this is about?” McCree let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I don’t have a fucking clue. You remember when I was running with Deadlock, Devi. Hank never gave a shit about me. I weren’t no son to him, just another flunkie to do his bidding, but worse because I had nowhere else to go and no way out. The only thing that made him a father to me is the fact that I have his fucking DNA. No special treatment here, Devi. He never told me shit.”

The omnic made a static-like sound that was something close to a sigh. “Nice try, Jesse. I’m not an idiot.” She casually slid a pistol out of a holster on her hip. Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat and he drew his bow.

“Just because he didn’t give a shit about you doesn’t mean you don’t know where the cache is, and I know damn well that he forced you to be his little pack mule and haul all his shit in and out. So why don’t you stop lying out of your ass and tell me where the cache is before I start reprimanding you with high velocity lead poisoning?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know shit,” McCree snapped.

“No, you’re full of shit! Where’s the cache? I know it’s in this area!”

“Is it? I wouldn’t know.”

“Dammit, Jesse!” Devi aimed the pistol at him. “Are you going to force me to jog your memory?”

“Shooting me ain’t gonna make me remember something I don’t know!” McCree snarled at her from the floor.

Hanzo decided he’d had quite enough. He nocked an arrow to his bow, drew a bead on Devi’s head, then slowly shifted his aim to just over her shoulder. He analyzed the layout of the room, the angles of the walls compared to his higher vantage point and his three targets, and took into account where McCree was sitting, much lower than his targets.

He fired. The arrow whistled over Devi’s shoulder and buried itself into the wooden wall, then released a dozen flechettes that ricocheted into the room. Four flechettes tore into one thug’s chest and another pierced the left eye of the other, vanishing into his skull. Both dropped to the ground, dead before they hit the floor. Two flechettes found their mark in the unprotected circuitry of Devi’s neck, but the rest that hit her bounced harmlessly off, the smaller flechettes not having the momentum to pierce her protective metal plating.

No matter. Devi had only just managed to realize that she’d been shot and her associates were dead before Hanzo drew and fired two more arrows, both finding their mark and tearing through the omnic’s head. She dropped to the ground, sparking as her lights dimmed.

Hanzo dropped through the hole in the roof to land almost silently in front of McCree.

“Hanzo!” The relief in McCree’s voice was palpable. A smile split his face before he tried to struggle to his feet with his hands still behind his back. “Goddamn, am I happy to see you!”

Hanzo helped him to his feet and moved behind him, cutting through the ziptie binding McCree’s wrists with the knife he kept in his quiver.

“Are you injured?” he asked, looking him over. There was blood staining through McCree’s chaps on his left leg and he looked like he’d had a bloody nose, but McCree was already moving before Hanzo could get a proper look at him.

“Nothing I ain’t gonna live through,” he said, brushing himself off. “We need to get outta here. Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Still back at the ambush site, last I was aware,” Hanzo confessed. “I took a motorcycle and went after you before the trail went cold. My communicator went out of range some time ago.”

McCree turned to give him a surprised look. “You bailed on the team?”

“It was imperative that I follow you before Deadlock took you somewhere we would be unable to find you!” He snapped, but his voice softened at the worry in McCree’s eyes. “The rest of Deadlock retreated once they had you, and the team was uninjured when I left. I simply…”

_I couldn’t lose you._

He bit the words back before he could let them slip. Damn it all. Not one hour ago he was afraid that he would never be able to tell McCree how much he meant to him, and now that he had the chance, he couldn’t bear to say the words.

“Here,” he said instead, pulling Peacekeeper out of the back of his obi and handing her to McCree. “You’ll need this.”

McCree’s expression softened and he checked Peacekeeper over before holstering her.

“Thank y’kindly,” he said. “And I see you got my serape, too. Might wanna hold onto that. Sun’s almost down and the desert gets mighty cold at night. I’d hate for you to catch a chill, sugarplum.”

He gave Hanzo a firm pat on the shoulder and peered out the door again, checking to see if the coast was clear, and didn’t look back to see Hanzo duck his face behind the serape to hide his flush.

“C’mon. We got a cache to go sabotage.” He slipped out the door and headed for the parked motorcycles.

“So you _do_ know where it is,” Hanzo whispered, sticking close to him and furiously trying to get himself under control.

“O’course I do,” he said as they reached the line of motorcycles. “Hey, can I borrow that knife, Hanzo? They took mine.”

Wordlessly, Hanzo handed his knife over and McCree dropped into a crouch, casually slashing the tires of each motorcycle as he continued. “Yeah, I know where Hank’s cache is. Devi was right on the money about that, but I ain’t about to let Deadlock have what’s in there. That was Hank’s emergency stash, in case shit went sideways and he had to go rogue on the gang. There’s a lot of high grade military weaponry in there, including some bigass bombs that even Hank was only going to ever use as a last resort. I don’t like the idea of Deadlock getting their hands on ‘em, so we’re gonna get in there first, safely unload the large ordnance, and have the team pick us up before Deadlock can...”

McCree trailed off as he reached the last motorcycle.

“Well, how do you like that?” He crouched down, reaching past the bikes, and scooped his hat up from the ground. “Nice! I was worried I’d lost it on the way over.” He dusted it off and set it on his head.

“Your hat?” Hanzo asked, incredulous.

“Yup,” McCree handed Hanzo his knife back and took a seat on the only remaining bike with intact tires.

“You lose your serape, your knife, and your gun but you still manage to keep your hat?”

“A man’s gotta have priorities,” he said matter-of-factly.

Hanzo huffed and took a seat behind him. “You, Jesse McCree, are an idiot.”

“Then I suppose I should thank you even more for coming after an idiot like me,” he turned the key, still sitting in the ignition switch, and revved the motorcycle to life. “Hold on tight, now.”

The motorcycle started forward with a jerk and Hanzo hastily wrapped his arms around McCree’s waist. McCree lazily turned the motorcycle around, waiting just long enough for someone to come investigate before he tore off into the desert. The sounds of shouting followed them as they vanished into the twilight.

They rode in silence, the wind in their ears and the roar of the motorcycle too deafening to even think of conversation. Twilight faded to dusk, then sank into full nightfall. Only a sliver of a moon hung in the sky, leaving the desert plunged in darkness, their way illuminated by the motorcycle’s sole headlight and nothing more.

The minutes ticked by as McCree drove them deeper into the desert. Hanzo had no idea how McCree knew where they were going in the dark, so settled for holding on to him and trusting that McCree would get them to their destination. He tried watching the stars for a while. He’d never seen so many stars before, had never been this far away from civilization before. The only hint of light pollution was a dull orange haze far to their left where a city lay over the edge of the horizon.

Was that how McCree was guiding them? By watching the stars? There was something romantic about that, navigating by the stars like the sailors of old, sailing amid a sea of rock and sagebrush. He tried to find Polaris, but couldn’t remember if it was part of the large or small bear and eventually gave up.

The longer they drove, the colder it became. It was hard to believe that the night could get so cold after such sweltering heat during the day, but the serape around his shoulders and the heat of McCree’s solid form before him helped to stave off the worst of the chill.

Hanzo had never been this close to him for so long before. Here he was, arms around the object of his affection and still unable to say a damn word. He tucked his head against McCree’s shoulder and breathed him in. There were still all the smells of the motorcycle, the sharp scent of gasoline and steel, but McCree smelled of sweat and smoke, of gunpowder and blood. Hanzo thought there would be something more, something musky and masculine, something distinctly McCree. Instead, Hanzo came to the conclusion that they both desperately needed a shower.

Oh well. Life wasn’t like the romance novels, apparently. Especially considering that there was no sort of romance at all going on. He finally had McCree alone, but the thought of confessing his feelings made him nauseous.

_Coward._

That thought sent a pang of longing through his heart. Hanzo closed his eyes, head buried in McCree’s shoulder, and tried not to think, letting his thoughts be drowned by the desert wind and the roar of the motorcycle.

Hanzo was sure it had been at least an hour before he felt them slow and finally come to a halt. McCree toed down the kickstand and Hanzo hastily let him go, sliding off the bike and missing the solid warmth of McCree already.

“Where are we?”

Something black and massive towered over them, blocking out a good half of the sky. Another mesa.

“Old Hank’s secret stash,” McCree said. “Hey, you got a flashlight?”

“I have my phone.” Hanzo pulled it out and glanced at it. 22:31, no service. They had certainly been driving for a while. He turned on the flashlight and handed it to McCree.

McCree began walking slowly around the base of the mesa, peering through the cracks in the rock, obviously looking for something. It was another twenty minutes before he found what he was looking for.

“Hah!” McCree stopped and pointed at the cliff wall. Protruding from the rock was a large metal wheel: the mechanism to open a bunker door. “Here we go.”

McCree grabbed the wheel and twisted. For a moment, the wheel refused to budge, then McCree grunted and jerked with his prosthetic arm and the wheel began to turn. After three and a half turns, there was a sharp hiss of air and the rock wall popped forward half an inch, revealing the bunker door, built right into the cliff wall and designed to look just like the rock it was built into. The door groaned as McCree pulled it open.

“Well, let’s contact the team, get all this ordnance unloaded, and get the hell out of here,” McCree said, leading the way into the bunker, still using Hanzo’s phone as a flashlight.

Hanzo followed him. The door led directly into a small room, though the light from the phone showed a glimpse of an open doorway that lead to a second room deeper in the mesa. The air was musty and stale, and Hanzo scowled at the smell of it.

“Huh,” McCree said. He was holding the phone light in one hand and examining a series of circuit breakers built into one wall beside a computer terminal, flicking each of them on and off in turn. “Well, damn. Looks like the power’s all dead. Hey, Hanzo. Wanna try and see if you can get ahold of the team on your communicator?” 

Hanzo tapped the communicator in his ear and tried hailing Tracer, but was only met with static. 

“Still out of range,” he said, shaking his head. “And no cellular service, either.”

“Dammit. That’s what I thought. We’re gonna need to haul the solar panels out in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Hanzo asked, raising his eyebrows.

McCree turned to look at him, unwittingly shining the light in his eyes. Hanzo scowled and held a hand up to block the light until McCree hastily turned it away.

“Oh! Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’. Yeah, in the morning. Hank’s got an independant satellite communications network rigged into this place, but no power means no communications. We’re gonna need to bunker down for the night until we can charge this place back up and call in the team. Lemme see if the air pump’s still working and we’ll see what we have to work with…”

Thankfully, it seemed the air pump had its own battery system, and while McCree worked on getting it up and running again, Hanzo had a look around.

The front room was small, only about fifteen feet wide and deep, with a cot in one corner, a large steel sink against one wall, a small table, a single folding chair, and a series of cupboards and drawers. Poking around in the cupboards revealed a toolbox, hand towels, a set of folded clothing, a stack of MREs, bottled water, a first aid kit, and a lantern and two flashlights, all with batteries in working order. Hanzo turned the lantern on and set it atop the cupboards, which lit the room dimly, but still sufficiently enough to see by. He checked the expiration on the MREs, decided they were theoretically edible, and set a few aside. He cracked open a bottled water and took a few deep swallows, realizing just how thirsty he was. He grabbed another one and turned around.

“McCree.”

“Hm?”

“Catch.”

McCree looked up from the air pump just in time to catch the bottled water Hanzo threw his way and stopped everything to open it.

“Goddamn, Han, you’re a damn lifesaver, you know that?” McCree drained the entire water bottle in one go. “There another one? The sink’s hooked up to a water tank, but this stuff will be safer for drinking.”

Hanzo grabbed another water bottle and frowned.

“You should eat before you drink more,” he said. “Drinking too much while severely dehydrated will give you low blood sodium.”

“I ain’t that dehydrated,” McCree argued, crushing up the empty plastic bottle and tossing it aside. “Deadlock had me for an afternoon, not three days.”

Hanzo hesitated.

“Look,” McCree amended. “I’ll have one more and then eat something, that alright?”

Hanzo gave him a stern look and tossed over the second bottled water. “One more. Then you eat. And we’re going to actually treat your injuries, too.”

“Yeah, yeah…” McCree downed the second water and went back to working on the air pump. “Goddamn, you’re worse than a mother hen, worrying over me.”

Hanzo snorted and set the MREs, hand towels, and first aid kit on the table, then took a flashlight and headed for the back room.

“Kinda nice, though,” McCree continued, much more softly. “Havin’ you worry over little ol’ me. …Thanks.”

Hanzo’s heart fluttered in his chest and didn’t trust himself to speak, ducking into the back room instead.

The back room was significantly larger than the front room, still only about fifteen feet wide, but at least sixty feet deep. Row after row of shelving stretched down the room. Hanzo moved slowly through, examining the contents of the shelves, following the line of his flashlight. The first few shelves were innocent enough, more MREs, bottled water, gasoline, extra parts for a car or motorcycle, but it wasn’t long before he found shelves stocked with much more lethal supplies. Firearms, ammunition, grenades, tear gas, RPGs, even a box of stick dynamite, like something out of a cartoon. Against the back wall were a variety of devices, some Hanzo didn’t recognize at all, but others he knew were most definitely explosives, including a few large shells that were obviously stolen military ordnance. Hanzo took care not to disturb anything and made his way back to the front room.

“Supplies, weapons, and significantly more dangerous weapons,” Hanzo said, stepping back into the front room. “Just as you said. Nothing immediately hazardous to us or any more useful than what we’ve already found.”

“Ah, well. That’s something, at least.”

McCree must have gotten the air pump working, as it was humming in the corner, pumping in fresh air through whatever ventilation system had been built into the mesa. The room already smelled better, and he could see McCree had closed the bunker door, sealing them in. McCree himself was bent over the large sink, scrubbing his face with his hands and ducking his head under the running faucet. He’d also relocated the lantern to sit beside the sink, presumably so he could better see what he was doing, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that McCree had also elected to hang his hat off the lantern, throwing half the room in shade.

“Blood all in my beard,” McCree offered as an explanation when he saw Hanzo’s curious look. “Got a bloody nose when Deadlock knocked me out, and all the dried blood’s been driving me nuts.”

He ducked his head under the faucet again, scrubbing at his face and hair one more time, then turned the water off and shook his head, sending droplets of water flying in all directions. Hanzo scowled as he was peppered with dirty water. Gods, what did McCree think he was doing, acting like some kind of dog? A scruffy, mangy, dirty–

McCree tilted his head back, the lantern light catching the strong line of his jaw just right, and ran his hands through his wet hair. Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat.

–rugged, handsome, strapping–

A joint on McCree’s prosthetic hand caught in his hair and he yelped then sputtered out a stream of curses as he tried to untangle his metal fingers from his own hair.

–ridiculous, foolish, absolute wreck of a man, and Hanzo knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

McCree managed to successfully free himself and scooped up his hat. He considered it, then grimaced as he looked inside and scratched at the inside of the brim.

“Blood all in my hat, too. Dammit.” He reluctantly set it down on the table instead of putting it on.

Hanzo set his flashlight down and turned away to give himself a chance to school his expression. He couldn’t let McCree see the tenderness in his eyes, the longing, the ache inside him yearning to break free.

_Why?_ Why was he hiding it? Why couldn’t he just say something? He’d been ready to spill everything when he thought McCree was gone, but now that they were here, away from Deadlock, safe, sealed inside a secret bunker, alone together, he just…he couldn’t…

“Han? You okay, sweetpea?”

Hanzo almost jumped when he glanced over and found McCree had moved closer, stepping into his space.

“Aw, hell,” he said, worry creasing a line between his brow. “I didn’t see before…are y’hurt? Who do I have to shoot for scratching up your pretty face?”

“Ah,” Hanzo reached up and gently touched the scrape along his cheek. “No one, actually, except possibly myself.”

McCree gave him a curious look and Hanzo continued.

“Something was wrong with the motorcycle I stole,” he said. McCree grabbed one of the hand towels off the table as he spoke, stepping back to the sink to wet it down. “It was fine while I was following Deadlock, but it crashed as I got close to the hideout.”

“Yeah?” McCree was back in Hanzo’s space again. He gently caught Hanzo’s chin with his metal hand, tilting his head up and began carefully cleaning the scrape with the wet towel. “What happened?”

Hanzo focused on the details of the crash instead of thinking about McCree so close, or his large, gentle hands on him.

“I was getting close and wanted to stop some distance away and continue on foot to not alert Deadlock to my presence,” Hanzo said, deliberately not meeting McCree’s eyes, afraid that he’d get lost in them if he did. “I applied the brake and the motorcycle lost balance and crashed.”

“Which brake?” McCree asked, tilting Hanzo’s face a little more to the right to clean where the blood had dried up near his ear.

“What do you mean ‘which brake?’”

“Motorcycles have two brakes,” McCree explained. “The hand brake is for the front wheel and the foot brake is for the rear wheel.”

Oh.

Hanzo fell silent and McCree’s lips curved into a small smile.

“You locked up the front brake and tipped over, didn’t ya?”

“I was…unaware that there was a foot brake,” Hanzo admitted. “Hovercycles only have a singular hand brake.”

“Yep,” McCree said. He gave Hanzo’s cheek one more wipe with the wet towel before releasing him and taking a step back.

Hanzo dug his heels into the ground to stop himself from following him, wanting to chase that closeness.

“Well, crash or no, thank y’kindly for stealing a bike and chasing me halfway across New Mexico.” He reached up to tip his hat, only to realize halfway through that it was still sitting on the table and awkwardly turned the motion into an uncomfortable head scratch. He flashed that damned charming grin. “At least now you’ve been on a real bike now, right?”

_I’d chase you anywhere._

“Hmph. I suppose,” he said instead, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Y’hurt anywhere else? Anything from the fight?” McCree asked.

Hanzo shook his head. “No. I’m fine. What of yourself?”

McCree waved a hand and turned away, tossing the wet hand towel into the sink. “Nah, nothing worth worrying about. I’m fine.”

“McCree…” Hanzo’s voice had a warning edge to it. He knew damn well that McCree would happily downplay an injury just to avoid inconveniencing anyone. “You already confessed to cleaning blood off your face and I can see the blood on your trousers. I let you fuss over me for an insignificant superficial abrasion. The least you can do is allow me to do the same.”

McCree shot him a furtive look, then busied himself with washing his hands, even though he hadn’t gotten any of Hanzo’s blood on them.

“I…uh…well, when you put it like that…”

“ _Jesse_.”

“Alright, alright,” McCree dried his hands off on his pants and had the decency to look sheepish. “I got hit in the face pretty hard, s’what knocked me out. Best I can tell, my nose ain’t broken, though. I’ve got a few bumps and bruises where they roughed me up, but nothing serious.”

“And the leg?” Hanzo asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Bullet graze from the fight in the canyon,” he replied. “I think. Haven’t had the chance to look at it, obviously. It hurts like a bitch, but it don’t feel worse than that.”

“Well,” Hanzo said, picking up the first aid kit. “Graze or not, after the day we’ve both had, you should at least get it cleaned up. The last thing you need is a minor injury becoming infected while we’re separated from the team.”

“Yeah, o’course,” McCree said. He put his hands on his ridiculous belt buckle and stopped.

“You uh…gonna just stand there and watch me take my pants off, or…”

This time, Hanzo couldn’t hide the way his face flushed red.

“Of course not!” he snapped, hiding his panic behind a wall of anger. He shoved the first aid kit at McCree’s chest and stomped over to the sink. “This day has left me feeling sweaty and disgusting. I am going to wash up.”

Hanzo pulled the serape from his neck and folded it neatly, then removed his bow and quiver, setting them against the wall before turning his attention to the sink. He scooped up the hand towel McCree tossed in the basin and focused on getting it as clean as he could before he washed himself, refusing to look away from his task at hand.

Behind him, he heard McCree walk slowly over to the cot and two soft thumps, accompanied by the clatter of spurs. That would be McCree removing his boots. Next came the clink and jingle of McCree’s belt buckle, the creak of leather and a thud as both his belt and holsters were placed on the table, and the soft sound of rustling fabric, only audible because Hanzo was hyper-fixated on it. The cot creaked, then came the click of plastic as he opened the first aid kit, followed by the sound of rustling paper and plastic as McCree presumably began rifling around for what he needed.

Hanzo let out a long breath and closed his eyes. It was fine. Everything was fine. McCree was sitting three steps away taking care of an injury, and the fact that he happened to be half naked was only a problem because Hanzo couldn’t get his damned emotions under control. Stop. Stop thinking about it. Concentrate on the task at hand. Discipline. Focus.

Don’t think about thick, muscular cowboy thighs.

Focus!

Hanzo took two long, deep breaths to steady himself, then slid out of the rest of his kyudo gi, letting the entire garment hang from his waist. Satisfied that the hand towel was going to be as clean as he would get it, he turned the water off and wrung the cloth out, then concentrated on cleaning himself off. The bunker was chilly, only marginally warmer than the air outside, and the cold water on his skin made him shiver and raise goosebumps. The feeling of the cloth wiping away sweat and grime was well worth it, however, and Hanzo ran the cloth along his neck, over his shoulders, and down each thick arm. He let down his hair and set his gold sash aside, then debated on trying to wash his hair before deciding that it would do more harm than good. He was washing along his chest when he realized the sounds of McCree patching himself up had stopped. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything from McCree at all.

Abruptly fearing that something was wrong, Hanzo glanced over one shoulder to check on him.

McCree was sitting splay-legged on the cot, bare from the waist down apart from a pair of burgundy boxers. There was indeed a gash across McCree’s left thigh, and there were a handful of crumpled alcohol swabs sitting on the cot from where McCree had been cleaning it.

His _thighs._

Any other thoughts Hanzo had vanished at the sight of bronze skin, sleek muscle, and dark, curly hair. He wanted to feel those thick thighs around his waist, wanted to dig his nails into them, grope them, lick them, mouth his way along them. He wanted those thighs hooked around his shoulders as he bent over McCree and thrust into–

Hanzo’s eyes flicked up to McCree’s face and had a moment of panic at being caught staring, only to find his own expression reflected back at him. McCree was holding a roll of bandages in one hand, staring slack-jawed at Hanzo’s bared torso, and caught Hanzo’s gaze a second later. He snapped his mouth shut and hastily averted his eyes, waving the roll of bandage material.

“I…uh…my prosthetic arm, it…I have trouble sometimes with finer motor controls.” McCree said hastily. “Can’t quite catch the end of the roll, y’see.”

Hanzo set the towel down and turned to face him, taking a few steps toward him to pluck the roll of bandage tape out of his hands and find the end. He pulled it out a few inches and started to hand it back when he realized McCree was eye-level with his pectorals and close enough that all it would take was for one of them to lean in just a little more to close the last of the distance between them. It would be so easy for Hanzo to run his hands through the strands of McCree’s damp hair, pull him in those last few inches so McCree could touch him, kiss him, mouth at his chest, run his tongue along the lines of his tattoo, graze his teeth over his nipples, savoring the soft touch of his lips contrasted with the coarse scratch of his beard until Hanzo could guide those lips lower to–

Hanzo took a swift, sharp intake of breath as he broke out of his fantasy and the sharp movement seemed to snap McCree out of whatever daze he’d also fallen into.

“Oh, uh. T-Thanks,” McCree stammered, taking the bandages from him.

Hanzo nodded stiffly and pulled away, turning to walk quickly toward the table. It really was getting cold, and he slid both sleeves of his kyudo gi back on. He turned his attention to the MREs on the table and tossed one to McCree.

“Here,” Hanzo said sharply.

“Thanks,” McCree replied in the same curt tone. He had his leg bent up on the cot and was focusing on bandaging himself, not looking up as the MRE landed beside him.

Hanzo took a seat at the table and put his back to McCree, needing to take a few minutes to get himself under control and cool his blood. He ate the MRE without tasting it, trying to shake away the heat of desire pooling in his groin.

Enough. Stop. Focus.

By the time he finished eating and had himself under control he heard the creak of the cot behind him.

“Well, that tasted just as terrible as I expected it to,” McCree said, his voice back to his usual easy, honey-smooth tone.

Hanzo glanced over to find he’d gotten his pants back on and was tossing the MRE packaging into the sink.

“So,” Hanzo said, hoping he sounded as relaxed as he wanted to be. “We pull out the solar panels tomorrow morning, contact the team once we have enough charge, unload the explosives onto the Orca, and head back to base, correct?”

“That’s the plan,” McCree said, sauntering past him to grab another bottled water from the cupboard.

“You should get some rest,” Hanzo said. “I can keep watch.”

“Ain’t nothing to keep watch for,” McCree said and took a swig of water. “Deadlock doesn’t know where we are and there ain’t nothing that can get into this bunker when it’s sealed up. Except maybe some of the bombs already in the bunker.”

“Still,” Hanzo continued. “You should take the cot, and I’ll…”

“What?” McCree asked, finishing off the bottled water. “Sit in that shitty folding chair all night? Sleep on the concrete floor? C’mon, it’s already cold in here and it’s only gonna get colder. We’re both adults. We can share a cot without making it weird.”

That seemed like far too tall an order, but Hanzo could not think of an argument against it that didn’t expose his feelings. He gave a sharp nod.

“If you insist.”

McCree gave him a blank look, as if he hadn’t expected Hanzo to agree so easily.

“Right. Well. Okay then,” he said somewhat awkwardly and tossed the empty water bottle aside. “You see any blankets when you were lookin’ around?”

“No,” Hanzo said with a shake of his head.

“Well, shit. Looks like old Hank didn’t think of everything.”

“Perhaps this place has a heater when it has power,” Hanzo offered.

“Ah, yeah. That makes sense.”

McCree looked around, his eyes falling on where Hanzo had folded the serape. “Guess we’ve got this,” he said, bending down to pick the serape up. “It ain’t too big, but it’s good wool and it’ll help.”

Hanzo gave him a doubtful look and McCree shrugged.

“Unless you’d rather sleep on the floor?”

A shiver ran through him, and Hanzo realized just how cold he was becoming. His quick wash had certainly made him feel better, but the thin layer of moisture under his clothing wasn’t doing him any favors at the moment.

“No,” he said. “You are correct. It is better than nothing.”

“Well,” McCree said. “…Alright then.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking awkward and uncertain, then climbed into the cot, squeezing as far against the wall as he could and turning to face it.

Hanzo let out a long breath and got to his feet. He moved his weapons so they were within arm’s reach of the cot, no matter how safe McCree said they were, and double checked that the bunker door was secure. He considered the lantern for a few moments, before deciding that it would be best to leave it on, in case one of them needed something in the night. Finally, Hanzo stood in front of the cot and stared at it, debating.

McCree turned to look over his shoulder and gave him a sardonic look. “Y’gonna just stare at it all night or are you actually planning on sleeping?”

“I am deciding if I want to remove my boots,” he said. “They take some time to get on and off and if there’s an emergency in the middle of the night–”

“I told you, there ain’t nothing that can get to us in here,” McCree interrupted. “And those steel monstrosities are going to be fuckin’ cold, so take ‘em off so I can get some sleep.”

Hanzo huffed at the response, but sat down on the edge of the cot and spent a few minutes extracting himself from his cybernetic boots. They powered down with a hiss and he threw his legs up on the cot and got as comfortable as he could, back to back with McCree. Once Hanzo had gotten settled, McCree threw the serape over both of them and turned back to face the wall.

They fell into silence. Hanzo closed his eyes, but was far too keyed up to sleep. He tried to think of nothing, to let his mind sink into a relaxed meditative state so he could sleep, but McCree’s presence was impossible to ignore. The cot was just small enough that their backs were only just touching, but McCree was still as warm as a furnace behind him. Between him and the serape, Hanzo managed to stay warm enough to stave off any shivering, though it was still chilly around his exposed feet and face.

Then there was the noise. Even when not talking, the gunslinger was loud, each breath sounding like a bellows to his back. He took long, deep breaths that each ended with a heavy exhale, and they were close enough that Hanzo could feel McCree’s thick torso moving ever so slightly with each breath.

All of that was beside the point, as Hanzo struggled with the concept of being in bed with McCree. Curse it all, McCree was right: they were adults, this shouldn’t be a big deal. But Hanzo couldn’t stop thinking about McCree’s flushed face inches from his chest, about the sight of his bare legs, hairy and thick with muscle and the slightest layer of fat, about his strong jaw in the lamplight, a hand running through damp hair, his molasses-smooth voice, his eyes, his smile, his laugh, his everything.

Eventually, Hanzo noticed a slight change to the pattern of McCree’s breathing, gradually growing slower, steady, and impossibly deeper. He craned his head back to look at him, but only saw the back of his head. Still, the relaxed nature of his shoulders made Hanzo suspect that he’d fallen asleep. Well, at least he didn’t snore.

Hanzo sighed and laid his head back down, staring at the dimly lit bunker.

Why hadn’t he confessed? He wanted to earlier. He was terrified of the thought that McCree might die without ever knowing he was loved. Why couldn’t he say it now? In the peace and quiet of the bunker, he finally could hear the answer to his own question.

Fear. Fear of rejection. Fear that McCree cared for him, but not as deeply as Hanzo cared for McCree. They were already close friends, but this was something so much more. Would he ruin everything by changing the dynamic? Would it be worse to suffer under unspoken words, drowning in feelings never expressed?

Damn it all.

He let his mind wander as the minutes ticked by, and something close to sleep began to approach him. His thoughts meandered through the events of the afternoon, finally curling once more around the pleasant memory of McCree inches from his chest, and it wasn’t difficult to slip back into the fantasy he’d concocted in that moment, dreaming of McCree’s lips on his skin, his strong hands drifting over his form, pulling him down to slide down into his lap, embracing him as they fell into each other.

As lovely as any fantasy was, his mind kept repaying the memory of McCree’s face inches from his own, over and over, as if there was something else there, something his subconscious was trying to get him to see, something he was–

Realization crashed upon him and he went stiff so sharply that McCree snorted behind him, but didn’t wake.

Could…could it be possible?

That look on McCree’s face when he’d caught Hanzo staring was exactly what Hanzo had been feeling. It was that same slack-jawed awe, that same longing, hunger, and desire. No…no, it couldn’t be…could it?

Hanzo ran through the events of the day once again, thought of the pure relief and joy when Hanzo came to his rescue, of gentle hands tenderly cleaning a simple scrape, and the more he thought about it, the more he could see, stretching back days, weeks, months. Every smile, every touch, every wink…

_I’d hate for you to catch a chill, sugarplum._

_Kinda nice, though. Havin’ you worry over little ol’ me._

_Who do I have to shoot for scratching up your pretty face?_

_Sugar, darlin’, sweetpea, precious, pumpkin, sweetheart, huckleberry._

Gods and spirits, had he really been so blind? Was it possible that McCree could feel the same way?

_No shit, genius,_ he thought with a voice that sounded suspiciously like Genji.

Hanzo would have laughed if he wasn’t afraid of waking McCree. For once, getting lost in his own head seemed to have helped instead of hurt.

Abruptly, McCree shifted behind him. Hanzo froze, wondering if he’d somehow awakened McCree anyway, when the large man rolled over and wrapped his arms around Hanzo. Hanzo took a sharp intake of breath, but McCree only made a vague sleepy grumble and fell still.

For a long moment, Hanzo lay frozen in McCree’s arms, heart pounding in his chest, and then slowly relaxed. McCree was still asleep, and being pressed up against him like this was much warmer than trying hard not to touch him. It certainly wouldn’t be wrong to allow himself this comfort.

With a small smile, Hanzo adjusted the serape around them and sank back into McCree’s arms. Between his solid warmth and the steady breathing, Hanzo found himself finally being pulled down into sleep. He’d confess in the morning, he promised himself as he relaxed. Perhaps once they got back to the Watchpoint, he’d ask him out for coffee. Well. Tea and coffee. Hanzo wasn’t a fan of coffee himself, but they’d find a good place that served both.

Laying this close, he made one last surprised observation before sleep claimed him. McCree still smelled like sweat and smoke, but this time there was another scent. Cedar and sage, or maybe sandalwood, or perhaps it was something else altogether and it really was just a scent that was uniquely McCree.

Maybe the romance novels had it right after all.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


Hanzo was nothing if not disciplined. He kept a strict daily routine: awake at 5:00, morning run at 5:15, training at 5:45, shower at 6:45, then breakfast and meditation at 7:00. He was accustomed to waking quickly, all at once, even accounting for jet lag. Waking quickly could be the difference between life and death if he was attacked while sleeping, and it was a habit he had kept for most of his life.

So it was certainly out of the ordinary when Hanzo awoke slowly and leisurely, still wrapped securely in McCree’s arms.

He became aware of the temperature first. The serape had slipped during the night, bunching up around their waists, and Hanzo sank backward against McCree’s chest, seeking the closest source of heat he could leech from.

McCree grumbled sleepily behind him and tightened his grip, and that was what finally dragged Hanzo into full awareness. Careful not to disturb him, Hanzo fished his phone from a pocket and checked the time. 5:46. Too early for the sun to be up, and therefore no need for them to get up and drag out the solar panels. Instead, he was left with more time to laze about in bed with McCree.

McCree. Jesse McCree, with his arms around him, curled in the same bed with him, after a harrowing day of gunfire, abduction, and driving halfway across New Mexico. McCree, who may have been actively flirting with him for months and Hanzo had been too oblivious to notice.

Or had he? It seemed so clear last night, but after a few hours of sleep, there was now plenty of room for doubt to creep into his mind and gnaw at his gut. Was his infatuation blinding him, tricking him into seeing what he wanted to see? He’d been so sure last night, but what if he was wrong? McCree had a charming personality and was flirtatious with a lot of people. Was the treatment Hanzo received truly any different from the same charm he turned on to everyone else? The minutes ticked by as Hanzo lay in McCree’s arms and let his worry tie himself into knots, trying to sort through his own thoughts and feelings.

Behind him, McCree shifted and grumbled, finally starting to rouse.

Oh, hell. What would McCree do if he found Hanzo, wide awake, just luxuriating in McCree’s arms? Fighting down panic and not knowing what else to do, Hanzo fell limp and faked still being asleep.

The shifting and grumbling behind him continued for another few minutes as McCree very slowly drifted awake. Hanzo had to stop himself from catching his breath as McCree’s thick arms abruptly gave him a squeeze, like Hanzo was the world’s largest, most lethal teddy bear.

He could feel the exact moment McCree truly awoke and became aware of his surroundings by the way the man went stiff all over and his breath caught in his chest. McCree held absolutely, perfectly still.

Oh gods. Oh no. McCree didn’t feel the same way. He’d just found Hanzo in his arms and now he was trying to save face and extract himself from an uncomfortable situation. Disappointment crushed around his heart and Hanzo almost gave in right then and there. Just as he was about to open his eyes and reluctantly reveal he’d been awake the entire time, he felt McCree let out a long, slow breath.

“…Han?” McCree asked, just barely more than a whisper, and there was something in his voice, a tenderness that convinced Hanzo to keep the act up just a little longer.

After a moment, Hanzo felt McCree slowly relax. For a few long seconds, nothing happened. What was McCree doing? Just…holding him? Hanzo tried to figure out what McCree must be thinking when he felt him lift one arm off from around Hanzo’s form.

Ah. Here it was. McCree was just trying to detangle them without “waking” Hanzo up so he could–

Gentle fingers began to caress through Hanzo’s hair.

Oh… _Oh._

It took all Hanzo’s willpower to continue to breathe slowly and evenly as McCree tenderly stroked his hair. There was no mistaking this for anything other than what it was. Hell, Hanzo’s hair wasn’t even clean or soft right now. It was still caked in dust, sweat, and grime, but here McCree was, gently running his fingers through the black locks all the same.

Well, _now_ what? He was going to have to reveal he was awake at some point, and then he’d certainly have some explaining to do. Although…McCree’s fingers felt so nice, the nails gently grazing along his scalp just right. Surely there’d be no harm in staying this way just a little longer.

Hanzo was in actual danger of falling back asleep when McCree shifted again and the fingers stopped. A second passed, then soft lips pressed against the top of Hanzo’s head, and no force on Earth could have stopped the soft gasp that escaped him as a result.

At the first sign of movement from Hanzo, McCree moved like lightning and managed to extract himself from both Hanzo and the bed before Hanzo had even registered what had happened. Well, that was only to be expected. Hanzo would do the same himself if their positions had been reversed.

He made a show of “waking up,” stretching slowly and sitting up. McCree was on the other side of the room, sitting at the table with his hat on his head, examining a few MRE packets and looking for all the world like he’d been awake for hours.

“Well, hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he said just a little too casually. “Finally up? Got breakfast for ya, then we’d best get to dragging out the solar panels.”

Hanzo had to admit that if he also hadn’t been awake for the past half hour, he would have bought McCree’s act.

“Lessee, do you want Lemon Pepper Tuna, Chili with Beans, or…” McCree frowned at the MRE packet in his hand. “This one just says ‘Chicken Chunks.’”

Hanzo made a face.

“Lemon Pepper Tuna, if you please,” he said, starting to strap back in to his complex cybernetic boots.

“Tuna it is,” McCree said, and tossed the packet his way. “Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to go outside for a smoke and to…uh, answer nature’s call.”

He tipped his hat and slipped out of the bunker.

Safely alone, Hanzo let out the smile he’d been holding back. There was no doubt now. McCree liked him. He really, truly liked him. They must have been dancing around each other for months, mutually pining over each other while being too cowardly to make a real move. Well, that would stop today. As soon as they were back safe, he would ask McCree out for tea and coffee. And they would talk. Really talk. But that would come later. Right now, he needed to focus on the mission and getting out of here.

Hanzo ate his MRE quickly and set about his morning routine, putting on his complex cybernetic boots and equipping his weapons. By the time he had finished getting himself ready, McCree was just stepping back inside.

“Sun’s just starting to come up,” he said. “I’ll start getting the solar panels ready if you wanna step out and take care of your own business.”

“That would be appreciated,” Hanzo said and stepped past him to head outside. He politely did not point out that McCree had been in such a hurry to leave that he hadn’t put on his boots, ignoring the cowboy’s socked feet.

It didn’t take long for Hanzo to take care of his necessities outside, but he lingered outside anyway, giving McCree the privacy to get himself ready. And besides, the sunrise over the desert was _breathtaking._ He stayed for a few minutes, watching the sun rise like molten gold over the desert, and after what he felt was an appropriate amount of time, he headed back inside.

McCree was fully dressed, including the serape around his shoulders, and was in the process of moving a series of large, folding panels out of the back room. Hanzo quickly moved to help him.

“Thanks, Han. You’re a peach,” he said, letting Hanzo take half the weight of the solar panel. “Just gotta get these set up and we’ll have power soon.”

“How long will it take?” Hanzo asked, shouldering the door open.

“Depends on how depleted the power is and how shitty the solar panels are. A few hours? Half a day at most. Won’t do for a full charge, but we don’t need the power stores full, just need enough to get the computer workin’. Alright, here should do.”

Together they set the panel down and ran the cable back to the breaker panel on the wall, then started setting up the second solar panel.

“How’s your leg?” Hanzo asked as they hauled the second big panel outside.

“Huh? Oh. Still stings like hell, but it ain’t bad,” he grunted as they set the second panel down. “How about you? You, uh…sleep alright?”

“Yes,” Hanzo replied, and was unable to help himself. “Quite well, actually. Very restful.”

“Oh. Well…good. That’s good.” McCree quickly busied himself with laying the cable for the second panel. Hanzo hid a smile and didn’t push the issue further.

They spent the better part of the morning setting up the solar panels, then the next while examining the contents of the back room more closely, deciding what should and shouldn’t come on the Orca and how to best transport the heavier weaponry safely. They’d just finished deciding when the bunker lights flickered on with a hum.

“Well, would you look at that?” McCree said with a grin. “Let’s see if that computer terminal is up and running.”

McCree led the way into the front room and booted up the terminal. They both obviously knew how to use a computer, but neither Hanzo nor McCree would be quick to call themselves experts. They certainly weren’t tech-minded like Hana or Winston, and they definitely weren’t hackers. Even so, between the two of them, they somehow managed to patch into the Overwatch secure communications network.

“This is an unauthorized device on a secure channel,” Lena’s voice demanded over the terminal’s speakers. “Who is this?”

“Just a lonesome traveler lookin’ for a ride,” McCree replied in his smoothest voice. “Think you got room in that vehicle of yours for two more?”

“Jesse!” She exclaimed. “And ‘two more?’ Does that mean Hanzo is with you, too? Are either of you hurt?”

“I am here,” Hanzo confirmed. “We are both safe and well, thank you.”

“Oh, thank God! We’ve been scanning satellite for you two ever since you vanished yesterday! Where are you?”

“We’re at a weapons cache,” McCree responded. “There’re a lot of big toys that Deadlock would love to get their hands on, and I ain’t inclined to let ‘em have it. How much room you got on that ship?”

“We could take on about a thousand kilos of weight in the cargo bay before it starts to affect flight.”

“Oh good,” McCree said. “Won’t nearly be that much. Sending you our coordinates.”

“Received!” Lena said cheerfully. “Let’s see…looks like you’re about forty minutes away. We’ll see you soon!”

The call ended and McCree leaned back with a sigh. “Well, that’s one thing off our chests. Things are finally startin’ to look up, darlin’.”

McCree shot Hanzo a wide smile and his heart soared. Now that he was looking for it, he could see all the little things that changed whenever McCree looked at him. There was a certain way his eyes glimmered when he looked at Hanzo, his smile just a little bit wider so they creased the crow’s feet just starting to form around his eyes. Now that Hanzo knew that smile was for him and just for him, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“C’mon, let’s start getting everything ready for transport,” McCree said. He clapped Hanzo on the shoulder, and if his hand lingered a little too long, Hanzo certainly didn’t mind.

They set to work carefully transporting the large ordnance and munitions out of the bunker, discussing how they would secure each item safely and setting aside any item that was even questionably stable or unsafe. They were carrying what looked like a stolen torpedo, of all things, out the door when the computer terminal pinged.

“Jesse?! Hanzo?!” Lena shouted, and the urgency in her voice stopped them both cold.

They glanced at each other, then carefully set the torpedo down so McCree could tap the button to respond.

“We read you, Lena. Where’s the fire?”

“We’ve kept the satellite feeds up after we got your location, and we see a truck and three motorcycles headed your way! We don’t have a great visual, but it looks like there’s a bunch of people piled in the back of the truck.”

“Deadlock,” McCree said flatly.

“How did they find us?” Hanzo asked. “They could not have followed us, and they obviously didn’t know the bunker’s location before. If they were tracking us, then they would have attacked in the night.”

“Were you lads running without power last night?” Tracer asked.

“Yes,” Hanzo replied. “How did you know?”

“Well, now that I’ve got your coordinates, I can see that you’re emitting a location ping. If Deadlock’s got a way to pick the signal up…”

“Then they found our location when we turned the terminal on,” McCree finished grimly.

“I can project their ETA at around ten minutes, which is sooner than we’ll get to you! You said you were at a bunker, can you hole up?”

Hanzo glanced at McCree, who was chewing on his bottom lip.

“Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but we just moved all the big bombs outside. Either we hole up and they take exactly what we don’t want them to have and leave, or we hole up and they blow us to bits _then_ take the rest of the big guns and leave.”

“You’ve got ten minutes, can you move everything back in?” Lena asked.

“There ain’t enough time,” McCree said. “Not even to move just the big stuff. How’s your arrow supply, Hanzo?”

“Low. Possibly not enough to make it through another engagement. …Wait. Jesse,” Hanzo said suddenly, an idea coming to him. “None of the ordnance is dirty, correct? No radiation?”

“Nah,” he replied. “Nothin’ radioactive, just big booms.”

“What if we detonated it?”

McCree tilted his head to one side, considering.

“Now _there’s_ an idea,” he said slowly.

“Deadlock can’t use what’s already been destroyed,” Hanzo continued. “And we have a very large, very sturdy geological formation we can use as cover.”

“Alright, Tracer. Change of plans,” McCree said with an eager gleam in his eye. “You keep heading inbound, but do not land and do not engage until Hanzo and I have blown this place to hell and back. I don’t want you folks getting caught up in the blast.”

“Yessir! Don’t blow yourselves up! And work fast!”

“Alright, I’m sure I can get at least three of those big boys to tie into the same remote detonator,” McCree said, shoving the torpedo against the wall and out of the way. “We haul one back inside to take care of the bunker and let the other two take out everything outside. Once everything’s rigged to blow, we hop on the bike, drive to the other side of the mesa, and blow the rest of Hank’s paranoia to kingdom come. If we’re lucky, we might even catch Deadlock in the blast. Let’s move!”

It was fortunate McCree had a surprisingly thorough knowledge of explosives, because Hanzo had no idea how to do any of what McCree was planning to do. He spent the next ten minutes mostly following McCree’s instructions, holding wires and cables, getting him tools, and helping to position the explosives so when the three connected to the detonator blew, it would set off a chain reaction to destroy all the others as well.

“Alright,” McCree said, closing a panel on the detonator, a little black hand-held device with a red button on top. “That should do it. Now let’s–”

The sound of engines cut him off and he snapped his head up. Rounding the edge of the mesa was a beat up old pickup truck and three motorcycles. Riding point on the most forward bike, her metal plating gleaming in the sun, was the unmistakable form of Devi.

“How in the hell is she still alive?” he snarled.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hanzo shouted, far more concerned about the ten armed Deadlock thugs riding in the bed of the pickup. “Get to the motorcycle!”

They sprinted for the bike and jumped on, McCree in the front again with Hanzo behind him. McCree turned the key and handed the detonator to Hanzo.

“As soon as we’re out of range, blow it!” He shouted.

McCree twisted the throttle and they were off, kicking up a line of dust as they drove, sticking close to the edge of the mesa to circle around it. Hanzo clung to McCree, the serape billowing in his face, and watched the stone cliffs, gauging where they would need to be before he hit the detonator.

“Han, we got company!” McCree shouted over the roar of the engine.

Hanzo snapped his head back to find that while the truck had stopped at the weapons cache, Deadlock thugs jumping out of the truck bed to loot the bunker, the three motorcycles had altered course to pursue them. The unmistakable crack of gunfire sounded and Hanzo spotted a burst of dirt where the bullet missed its mark and hit the ground beside them instead.

“They’re shooting at us!” Hanzo yelled. “Take evasive action!”

“What? Goddammit!” McCree began to take a serpentine path on the bike, doing his best to make them a more erratically moving target.

There were another two cracks of gunfire and Hanzo released his hold on McCree and began to turn around.

“What the hell are you doing?” McCree demanded, feeling Hanzo shift behind him.

“Increasing our chances!”

Hanzo hopped lightly up to perch on the seat of the motorcycle, his cybernetic boots helping keep his balance, then slowly rotated until he could sit back down, back to back with McCree. With nowhere else to secure it, he put the detonator between his teeth and drew his bow to return fire. One shot managed to hit one of the human bikers in the chest, sending him careening out of control and crashing hard into the dirt. Devi and the second human swerved easily around the wreck and continued gaining on them.

Gunshot after gunshot zipped past them, and Hanzo continued firing his dwindling supply of arrows until one bullet whistled right past Hanzo’s ear to shatter the right side mirror.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

McCree veered harder than he planned to, startled by the shot, and jostled Hanzo enough to rattle his teeth and send the detonator spinning out of Hanzo’s grasp and into the dirt, leaving it behind as they raced onward.

“The detonator!” Hanzo leapt up again, tucking his feet under him. “Keep driving!”

“Hanzo, what are you–”

For the second time in as many days, Hanzo leapt off a moving motorcycle and tucked himself into a controlled roll. This one went better than yesterday, as he’d done it entirely of his own will, and was soon on his feet again, sprinting to where the detonator had landed. Bullets whistled past him and he kept as low as he could, running for all he was worth. He abruptly tripped and stumbled to the ground. He scrambled, trying to find his footing again, and looked up just in time to see the human thug headed right for him. The thug had a submachine gun in one hand, but was currently aiming to run Hanzo over with the motorcycle. There was no time to get up, not even enough time to roll out of the way, and Hanzo braced himself for impact.

Instead, Hanzo heard a yell to his right and saw McCree veer into view. He rammed the thug, sending both the motorcycles careening away from Hanzo and sprawling over each other.

“Jesse!” He shouted, heart in his throat.

“Go!” McCree yelled from the wreckage. There was a thump as he punched the thug, but Hanzo couldn’t make out more than that through the dust and smoke kicked up from the crash. “I’m good, just go! Blow this place!”

Trusting that McCree had things under control and trusting his judgment, Hanzo got back to his feet and kept running for the detonator. There was a painful stitch in his side, but he forcibly ignored it with a surge of irritation. A few dozen paces more and he reached the detonator, scooping it up in one hand.

“Now!” Hanzo shouted, hoping it would be enough warning for McCree to take some kind of cover, and hit the switch.

Nothing happened.

Hanzo’s short breath caught in his throat and he hit the switch again, then again. Devi’s sharp, synthetic cackle caught his attention and he looked up to find her pulling her motorcycle to a halt.

“No use, archer,” she said, the sneer clearly evident in her voice even if her faceplate showed no emotion. “You want to know the problem with a wireless detonator? The signal can be blocked.”

She tapped her metal head. “Nice shot last night, by the way. It gave me the excuse to upgrade some hardware. Good thing I did, or my boys would all be in pieces right now.”

“How are you still alive?” Hanzo demanded. He was breathing hard, and the stitch in his side wasn’t helping.  
“My CPU is in my chest, dumbass,” she snapped. “All you did was take out my sensory inputs and stun me for a bit. Took me a night to get on a new head and new hardware, and then you boys started broadcasting your signal all over the place! Thanks for leading us to the cache. Deadlock will make good use of these gifts from Overwatch.”

She idly leaned back on her bike and lazily began to reload her pistol, popping out the magazine. “Too bad you won’t be around to see, though. You were kind of fun, dragon boy.”

Hanzo felt a flare of rage at being called “boy,” but then it settled into a sudden clarity.

_Dragon._

A smirk curled at his lips and Hanzo reached down into the reservoir of power within him. His tattoo began to glow. “Then I hope I can offer you one more entertainment.”

He drew his last arrow and aimed, but not at Devi.

“ _Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!_ ”

The dragons poured through him, bursting through his flesh and soul to erupt into existence, and hungrily followed the path of the arrow. As they brushed against his mind, they felt Hanzo’s wordless instructions and dove upon the bunker and the large amount of ordnance that Deadlock was gleefully assembling.

For a brief moment the air was filled with screams, and then everything was encompassed by an earth-shattering explosion. Or explosions, as it were, as the dragons had seen fit to set off every explosive in the cache.

Hanzo was knocked off his feet by the blast, though they had thankfully gotten far enough away that there wasn’t more damage than that. The explosions shook the ground for what felt like several solid minutes, then he crawled to his knees once the earth had finally stopped shaking.

The barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead and he froze. His eyes glanced upward to find himself looking up at Devi’s faceplate.

“You have been an unexpected thorn in my side, archer,” she said coldly. “But not anymore.”

“Hey, Devi! Know what time it is?”

Devi snapped her head up. Sprawled in the motorcycle wreckage with another bloody nose was McCree, a wild grin on his face and a crimson gleam in his eye. Peacekeeper was leveled steadily at her chest.

“ _It’s High Noon._ ”

Six shots found their mark in the time it took to fire once, all six bullets tearing through Devi’s steel torso. She crumpled to the ground in a heap and her lights went out for the final time.

Hanzo let out a long breath and slowly got to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily and winced. The stitch in his side was being irritatingly persistent. He took a moment to try and catch his breath, then made his way over to McCree.

“Good shot,” he said, extending a hand out to him.

“Always am,” McCree replied, taking his hand. “But thanks anyway.”

McCree got to his feet with Hanzo’s help, then grimaced and leaned on him.

“Aw, hell. Think I did somethin’ to my bad knee in that crash.”

“How badly?” Hanzo put his arm around McCree to help support him, looking up at him with concern. “Can you put weight on it?”

“Lemme see…”

As McCree tentatively experimented with how much weight his leg could take, a roar of engines surrounded them. The Orca flew over the top of the mesa and touched down for a landing, far more smoothly than a bulky ship of that size logically should have been able to handle. It was certainly a testament to Lena’s skill as a pilot, Hanzo thought. The bay doors open and Lena blinked out to meet them with a flash of blue, her pulse pistols in each hand.

“Cheers, luv! The cavalry’s here!”

“Nice job, but the cavalry’s missed all the action,” McCree said dryly.

“Oh, bollocks. Really?” Lena lowered her pistols with a pout. “Was lookin’ forward to a little payback, to be honest.”

He gestured to the mess behind them. “We got it covered, don’t you worry.”

“Ah, we missed the fight?” Reinhardt asked, stepping out of the Orca with Brigitte at his side. “Well done, my friends. You have conquered overwhelming odds!”

“Never mind all that,” Hanzo snapped. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath and heart was still racing, even though the fight was over. He looked to Brigitte. “McCree is hurt and needs medical attention.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just my bad knee actin’ up again, that’s all. No need to get all worked up over me,” McCree grinned, but Hanzo met it with a scowl.

“By the way, Hanzo,” Lena piped in, her voice taking on that sickly sweet tone that actually meant she was upset. “What the bloody ‘ell were you thinking, running off on your own? You ran off and vanished and scared us all half to death!”

Hanzo turned his scowl on her and puffed himself up, standing straighter. The stitch in his side twinged again, more painfully than before.

“It was imperative that we followed after Jesse before the trail was lost. I took the opportunity to follow,” he said hotly.

“Hey now, maybe we should save this for back on the Orca,” McCree said.

“No, you should have pulled back to regroup and work out a plan that didn’t involve splitting us up further! You gave us all a fright! We could’ve lost you both!” Lena said.

“No, the risk of losing Jesse was too great! And he’s right, we should save this discussion for later. McCree needs medical attention!” Hanzo demanded. He was feeling light headed and dizzy, but stubbornly ignored it.

“Really, I’m fine, sugar. See? I’m walking and everything,” McCree let go of Hanzo and took a few limping, painful steps to prove his point.

“You are not walking, you are _limping,_ ” Hanzo snarled, but his breath was starting to come in sharp gasps. His head started spinning and black was creeping in on the edges of his vision. He took a few stomping steps toward Lena. “And as for–”

Hanzo stumbled and the stitch in his side erupted with a stab of agony through his gut. He pitched forward, falling hard to his knees.

“Hanzo? Hanzo!”

Hanzo kneeled in the dirt, one hand on the sharp spike of pain in his side that had somehow become so much more agonizing than a simple stitch. He took a harsh, ragged breath.

“Hanzo, what’s wrong?!” McCree was kneeling in front of him, despite his bad knee, and forced him to look up into his eyes. “Hanzo, talk to me!”

“I…” Hanzo was still dizzy, even kneeling on the ground, and vaguely became aware of something wet and sticky. He looked down to find his hand covered in bright, warm blood.

“Hanzo?! Brigitte! Get over here, Hanzo’s hurt!”

Hanzo stared at his hand in surprise. When had that happened? He didn’t remember getting injured. Wouldn’t he remember if he’d been injured? He looked sluggishly downward. The dark color of his kyudo gi had hidden it, but now that he was paying attention, he could see the dark patch spreading through the fabric and felt warm blood spilling down his side, tacky against the inside of his clothing.

“Hanzo! Hanzo, look at me!”

Hanzo weakly looked up at him. He was having trouble getting his eyes to focus, but he could feel McCree’s hands on his shoulders and could hear the panic in his voice.

“J…Jesse…”

“Hanzo, stay with me! Don’t–”

Whatever he was supposed to not do, however, Hanzo didn’t hear. He pitched forward into McCree’s arms and sank into darkness, chasing the smell of smoke and cedar wood.

* * *

_…beep…beep…beep…beep…beep…_

Hanzo was aware of the sound before anything else, a steady, high-pitched beeping that penetrated through the fog of unconsciousness and rolled around in his brain. It was irritating. It was irritating and he wanted it to stop.

_…beep…beep…beep…_

Well, it wasn’t going away on his own, so that clearly meant he needed to do something about it. Fine. He was used to fixing his own problems. Now he just needed to find the source of the noise.

_…beep…beep…beep…_

That seemed to be easier said than done. He became vaguely aware that he was laying on his back, but moving was surprisingly difficult.

_…beep…beep…_

After a monumental effort, Hanzo managed to open his eyes, then immediately wished he hadn’t and clenched them shut again. It was bright. Too bright. He was laying where the light of a thousand suns was beating down on him, threatening him with blindness.

_…beep…beep…_

Blindness or not, he would have to brave the terrible brightness if he wanted to stop that damned beeping. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, this time letting them adjust. An off-white ceiling met his gaze, with plain fluorescent lights that were set on a dim setting. Ah. Maybe it wasn’t so bright after all. No matter. He needed to figure out where he was and how he could stop that infernal sound. With a herculean effort, Hanzo managed to turn his head and get a better look at his surroundings.

Windowless, off-white walls with the Overwatch logo interposed with the caduceus staff symbol met his gaze. Hovering over him was a series of holographic monitors, displaying a series of numbers and wavelengths, one of which pulsed in time with his heartbeat and matched the infernal beeping.

He was back in the Watchpoint ICU. A hospital. Damn it all. He hated hospitals. At least he was back in Gibraltar, and this particular infirmary was staffed entirely by people he knew instead of strangers come to poke and prod at him when he least wanted it.

Now that he knew where he was, he seemed to gain some of his awareness back. He managed to look down at himself and frowned when he saw he was wearing one of those terrible hospital gowns. A number of wires and other monitoring equipment vanished under his gown, and an IV line connected in to his right arm. He flopped his head to the left and frowned when something tugged at his nose. Upon further investigation, he discovered he had a nasal cannula placed in his nostrils, piping him oxygen. He scowled and tried to lift an arm to pull it off, but found that too great a task for his debilitated state.

Damn hospitals.

He let his eyes wander to find Genji, slumped in a chair to his left, arms folded, head tucked down, and leaning heavily to one side. His visor was in place, so Hanzo couldn’t see his face, but he very much looked like he’d fallen asleep. The green lights of his cybernetics pulsed slowly in time with Genji’s even breathing, and gave the impression of a computer that had been put into sleep mode.

Hanzo frowned, trying not to think too hard about why he found that concept strangely disturbing and put it from his mind. He let out a sigh and laid back.

“Hanzo?”

The voice came from his right, and Hanzo made an effort to look over. McCree sat beside him, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans and wearing an expression of relief. 

“J…Jesse?”

“Hey, darlin’,” McCree caught his hand with both of his, rubbing his palm soothingly. “How’re you feelin’?”

“I am…thick,” Hanzo frowned. No, that wasn’t the right word. What was it in English? He scowled at nothing for a few seconds until he could find the words he was looking for. “Sluggish. I am sluggish. My head is soup.”

“Soup?” McCree asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Soup. Because…” Hanzo struggled, trying to figure out how to explain. “Pea soup. Thick as pea soup. Fog. Foggy. My head is foggy. Thick fog.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” McCree said. “Angela hooked you up with some pretty heavy pain meds. You took one hell of a hit, sweetpea.”

Was McCree smiling? Why was he smiling? Couldn’t he see how terrible this situation was, sitting in a hospital bed in an ugly gown with a horrible beeping noise? Hanzo gave McCree his best frown in retaliation, but it didn’t seem to help.

“Sweet pea soup,” Hanzo mumbled before he could find the filter between his brain and his mouth.

Now McCree was _definitely_ smiling.

“What happened?” Hanzo managed to say without further making a fool of himself.

“You got shot, sugar,” McCree continued to rub soothing circles along his palm. Hanzo found he liked it. “Brigitte stabilized you with a patch job until we could get you to Angela and fix you up proper.”

“I do not remember getting shot,” he huffed, as if that would explain why it was ridiculous for him to be in a hospital. “I remember you hurt your knee.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Crash knocked my bum knee out of place, and it’s already been fixed up as best as it can,” McCree said. “You, however, definitely got shot. Ang pulled a bullet out of you and everything. Probably happened while you were running for that damn detonator. Guess shock and adrenaline kept you from noticing until you’d lost enough blood to pass out on me. Don’t you worry though, pumpkin. The surgery went well and Ang says you’re gonna be just fine.”

Hanzo gave McCree another frown that he really hoped didn’t look like a pout.

“If I am fine, then I can leave the hospital,” he said petulantly.

McCree chuckled. “Not quite, darlin’. You need to do a little more healin’, first. Then we can get you out of here and back into your room.”

His room. Of course! His drugged brain finally made the connection between the Watchpoint infirmary and actually being present at Watchpoint: Gibraltar with McCree.

“Jesse,” he said groggily. “Jesse, I have to ask you…”

“It’s alright, Hanzo, you’re safe. Everyone’s safe. You need to focus on resting.”

Hanzo shook his head. “No. It’s important. I promised myself I would ask. I have to.”

“Okay, okay,” McCree said soothingly. “It’s alright. I’m right here.”

Hanzo met his eyes, trying to keep them as focused as he could through his medicated daze. “Will you get tea and coffee with me?”

McCree stared at him uncomprehendingly, and that only made Hanzo frustrated.

“Will you,” Hanzo repeated, speaking more slowly in case the drugs were making him slur his words and he hadn’t noticed yet. “Get tea and coffee with me?”

“Tea…and coffee?” McCree asked slowly.

“Yes, because…I will want tea and you will want coffee,” Hanzo tried to explain. “So we have to find somewhere that serves both and then we can get tea and coffee. Together.”

McCree’s face became carefully guarded.

“Maybe I should go get Angela and have her check your pain meds.”

“ _No,_ ” Hanzo insisted, his hand closing around McCree’s and giving it a squeeze. “This is not drugs or pain or pain drugs. You held me last night and I liked it. I liked it a lot. But we were on a mission and it was important and I could not distract us, so I promised myself that I would wait to ask you when we got back to the Watchpoint. We are back at the Watchpoint. I would have said something earlier, but apparently I was shot. So, I am asking you now, before either of us gets shot again, do you want to get tea and coffee with me?”

“Hanzo,” McCree asked slowly, eyes wide with shock. “Are you…asking me out?”

“Yes.”

“Like…on a date?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Hanzo said, exasperation leaking into his voice.

“And…and this ain’t just the drugs talkin’? You really…you actually want to–”

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo snarled. “I have been yearning after you for months, but have not…” he trailed off as he searched through the fog in his mind for the words he wanted, abruptly losing steam after his fit of irritation. When he had imagined this conversation in his head, he had not pictured himself heavily medicated or in a hospital bed, and he had certainly imagined himself with a better grasp of the English language. “I have not had the courage to ask you before now. But when Deadlock took you, it made me realize that I could not bear to lose you. So. Tea and coffee. Without getting shot.”

“Yes!” McCree shouted. “Yes, God yes! I’d been hoping for a chance to…well. But I didn’t think you felt that way about little ol’ me.”

“I do,” he said softly. “And I have for a long time. But I have trouble with…I cannot always find the words to…”

Hanzo trailed off. If he had difficulty finding the words to express his affection before, it was certainly worse now with strong pain medications running through his veins. McCree saved him the trouble by sweeping down and claiming Hanzo’s lips in a swift, crushing kiss. It was fast, hard, and over before Hanzo had time to process it. He was left blinking dazedly at McCree’s sheepish expression by the time he even realized what was happening.

“Ah…sorry. I’m sorry,” McCree stammered. “I shouldn’t have done that while you’re not in your right mind.”

“Will you stop saying that?” Hanzo asked in a tone that he wanted to be demanding, but ended up sounding dangerously close to a whine. “I am medicated, not drugged, and just because my head is rainy or cloudy or foggy does not mean that I am not in control of myself or my actions! I like you, Jesse McCree, and I am very annoyed that you stopped kissing me before I could kiss you back.”

McCree gave him a flabbergasted look, then a smile slowly spread across his face.

“As you wish, darlin’.”

McCree leaned down, and this time the press of lips was slow and deliberate. McCree’s lips were soft, contrasting nicely with the gentle scratch of his beard, and Hanzo melted under their touch. He let out a low, pleased hum that rumbled deep in his chest and melted into a sigh of disappointment when McCree pulled away far too soon, even though this kiss had lasted much longer than the first one.

“That better, handsome?”

“Mm…” Hanzo pretended to think about it, though he absolutely couldn’t hide his pleased look or the way he was preening under McCree’s attentions. “Perhaps we should try another one just to be safe.”

McCree chuckled and used his good hand to caress Hanzo’s cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“I could spend all day lovin’ on you.”

“How fortunate that I do not have any other plans for the day. It appears my schedule is all yours.”

“Then give me some sugar, sugar,” McCree grinned wide and swept down for another warm kiss.

“You are ridiculous,” Hanzo mumbled before he let McCree’s lips claim his once again.

This time, Hanzo didn’t hesitate to let McCree know exactly what he wanted and ran his tongue along the line of his lips. McCree’s mouth parted easily and soon Hanzo was kissing him deeply and passionately, eager to explore as much of him as he could. He tasted of smoke and coffee. Hanzo let out a soft moan into him and McCree returned it with his own. Hanzo heard the squeak of McCree’s chair as he scooted closer, and felt both McCree’s hands begin stroking along his face and neck. He shivered pleasantly under the touch, enjoying the warm, calloused fingertips along with the cool, smooth metal. Hanzo tried to lift his arms, wanting to tangle his fingers in McCree’s wild hair, but his arms still felt too heavy to move. Perhaps if–

“Uuuuuuuuughhhh. Gross.”

They sprang apart at the unexpected sound, and glanced over as one to find Genji, very much awake and slouched in a manner that radiated exasperation with every fiber of his being.

“Oh my _God,_ I cannot watch another minute of this. You two are disgusting. If this is going to continue all day, I’d like to leave now, thank you very fucking much.”

“How long have you been awake?” McCree demanded, and even his tanned skin couldn’t hide how red his ears were turning.

“About ten minutes,” Genji said matter-of-factly and sprang lightly to his feet. “I didn’t want to interrupt, though. You two obviously had some things to work out. Everyone knows, by the way. You two are the only people in all of Overwatch who hadn’t realized how hard you were each crushing on each other.”

Hanzo could feel his face flushing now, too.

“Genji…” He said warningly.

“Ah! Despite the scarring image of my best friend sucking face with my brother, I should thank you, Hanzo,” Genji said, his tone turning suddenly gleeful. “There’s a sizable betting pool on which one of you would confess first, and you asking McCree out instead of the other way around has ensured that I’ve just won a great deal of money. Fareeha will be terribly disappointed.”

Hanzo didn’t need to see Genji’s face to know he was wearing a shit-eating grin.

“You are welcome to leave at any time,” Hanzo said dryly.

“Gladly, brother of mine,” Genji made an exaggerated bow and headed for the door. “Remember that Angela has a policy against fucking in her infirmary!”

“Get out!”

Genji laughed all the way out the door.

“That no-good sneak. He was awake the entire time. I’m right miffed that he bet against me, too,” McCree groused. “I’d wager he’d have interrupted earlier if he thought I’d ruin his bet.”

Hanzo snorted and turned to look at McCree, but found him slightly out of focus. He frowned.

“Jesse,” he said slowly, trying to understand why this was happening. “You are…blurry.”

McCree glanced his way and Hanzo could just barely make out his features.

“You’ve had a hell of a day, and you need to rest,” McCree closed his hand around Hanzo’s. “Get some sleep, darlin’.”

“Will you stay?” Hanzo asked. His vision was growing more unfocused, McCree looking like nothing more than a hazy brown and red shape.

“Of course I will,” he said, and kissed the back of Hanzo’s knuckles. “I’ll be here when you wake up, sweetheart. I’ll always be here for you.”

Hanzo let out a long breath and felt his last remaining tension go with it. He gave McCree’s hand a gentle squeeze, feeling relaxed, safe, and secure at last, and let sleep rise to claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, you can hit me up at [DabbleDrabbleProse](http://dabbledrabbleprose.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> Comments and concrit are always encouraged!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, you can hit me up on tumblr at [DabbleDrabbleProse!](http://dabbledrabbleprose.tumblr.com)


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